


Exile (to pack us up and leave me with it)

by itsreallylaterightnow



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: BAMF Tony Stark, Cold, F/M, Gen, Graphic Violence, Hallucinations, Hurt Peter Parker, Hypothermia, Lost in the Woods, Mystery, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Peter Parker Whump, Peter Parker is a Mess, Peter gets put through it in this one, Precious Peter Parker, Protective May Parker (Spider-Man), Protective Peter Parker, Protective Tony Stark, Psychological Horror, Psychological Torture, Psychological Trauma, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, Violence, Whump, Worried May Parker (Spider-Man), kinda psych. horror, self hate
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-01
Updated: 2021-02-05
Packaged: 2021-03-12 00:47:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,053
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29126721
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/itsreallylaterightnow/pseuds/itsreallylaterightnow
Summary: He didn’t know where he was. A snowy forest with no footprints near him, and no idea of how he got to this place. He felt regret squeezing his brain – suffocating his thoughts. And his hands…His hands and his chest was covered in blood. Red, and dry and cracking, and heavy.He found blood to be heavier than anything else. A weight that was placed on someone’s soul, a stain that could never be washed out. He knew he wasn’t hurt.He didn’t know whose blood it was.
Relationships: May Parker (Spider-Man) & Peter Parker, Michelle Jones/Peter Parker, Peter Parker & Morgan Stark (Marvel Cinematic Universe), Peter Parker & Tony Stark, Tony Stark/Pepper Potts
Comments: 15
Kudos: 40





	1. In this Wasteland

**Author's Note:**

> Hello folks! So, I saw a tiktok earlier that led me down a spiraling path of this fic! 
> 
> Firstly, thank you to eccentric-artist-221b for listening to me ramble and helping me come up with a plan for this sucker! 
> 
> A few notes to set up the scene for this work: 
> 
> \- endgame happened, but as always in my works, Carol snapped and Tony is alive and well
> 
> \- FFH happened but Beck never revealed Peter's identity and Beck is dead
> 
> A note about this work: 
> 
> I have always wanted to write a mystery/psychological thriller piece, and here it is! This work is dark, but it isn't everything it seems. I hope you stick around to see what happens! :)

He regretted something. He knew that emotion. Peter knew regret. He’d known regret since his parents got into the airplane without him. When he’d been screaming and crying and had refused to tell them that he loved them. He knew regret from fighting with Ben. Fighting and having it out with Ben and not moments later holding his hands against his uncle’s chest, watching as blood leaked between his fingers. Listening as his uncle gasped for breath, fighting to say “I love you” one last time before Ben took his last breath – being unable to get the words out before Ben went still. Regret as he watched May grieve.

Regret. Regret. Regret.

It was a burning in his chest. He was too familiar with it to be able to question what the feeling was. It was a specific feeling. Not grief. It was suffocating like that. It was a fist around his mind that slowly squeezed. It got tighter and tighter the more he thought about it, and the more he fought it, the more he felt it. It was a bear trap that only hurt him the more he struggled.

It was cold and wet and dark. He was regretful – and it was cold and wet and dark. The darkness came from his inability to open his eyes. His head was pounding, and if he wanted to open his eyes it was going to take a lot more effort than he was willing to give.

The cold. He was from New York – Peter knew what snow felt like. He was lying in it. It wasn’t too deep. He could feel the rocks digging into his back, the snow unable to cushion the pain enough.

The wet… he didn’t know why he was wet. There was something sticky and crusty on his hands, his chest. It felt as though it were starting to freeze over, but it was still wet. He didn’t like it. It was wrong, like when he wore socks and stepped into water. Sticky and uncomfortable and wrong.

Peter figured he’d exhausted his options of working through things with his eyes closed. He’d have to open them sooner or later.

Peter grunted, and peeled his eyes open, wincing as the sun glinted off the snow.

Trees were scattered through the snow. A vast landscape of a forest. Trees and bushes all snow-covered and towering. Peter felt himself shiver. He was susceptible to the cold, he knew that. It hadn’t taken long to figure it out after he’d been bitten by the spider. He’d realized pretty quickly that he didn’t handle extreme temperatures well in the slightest. Peter grunted and placed a hand in the snow, before pushing himself up into a sitting position.

His eyes went straight to his hands. 

Peter felt like he were about to throw up.

He didn’t know where he was. A snowy forest with no footprints near him, and no idea of how he got to this place. He felt regret squeezing his brain – suffocating his thoughts. And his hands…

His hands and his chest was covered in blood. Red, and dry and cracking, and heavy.

He found blood to be heavier than anything else. A weight that was placed on someone’s soul, a stain that could never be washed out. He knew he wasn’t hurt.

He didn’t know whose blood it was.

Peter’s breathing became labored as he scrambled to his feet, stumbling backwards until his back hit a tree and he leaned up against it, gasping for air.

“Okay – okay – c’mon Peter… think.” He let his head hang down, as he pursed his lips, doing his best to balance out his inhales and exhales.

He looked at where he’d been laying. The snow was covered in blood, like he’d been dipped in it. “What the hell?” He murmured, looking around at the woods surrounding him.

Peter jerked around, arms out when a woman’s voice spoke from somewhere around him.

“Do you blame yourself?” The voice was automated, it reminded him of Karen’s voice, but colder. So much colder. It sent a chill up his spine. It was the voice you heard in a horror film, and he had no clue where it was originating from.

“What? Blame myself for what?” Peter asked, his head on a swivel as he tried to pinpoint the location of the woman. “Well, it’s quite common in this type of situation for a person to feel a kind of guilt.”

Peter’s heart hammered in his chest as his eyes flickered down to the blood on his hands.

He’d always feared this. Being bitten by a radioactive spider, his entire body changing… he’d always thought that maybe it would change his mind too. That eventually he would go mad from the effects of the radiation and venom. 

He’d had nightmares about it. They were rare, they were dark. It was something he’d never spoken of to anyone. Those were the nights that Peter resigned himself to stay home for the day, to ensure that the nightmare didn’t mean he was going to do something regrettable.

“What kind-what kind of situation?” Peter’s voice quivered. He relied on his spider-sense in most situations. But the intuition he felt know – the voice in his head saying that he shouldn’t have asked, that he didn’t want to know – that was something more instinctual. It was a door, a barrier that he knew he shouldn’t cross. One he was certain he wouldn’t come back from.

He knew of psychotic breaks. Of the way someone could go lapse in their mind – do things they didn’t remember. Unthinkable things. He’d heard of people who had murdered dozens of people, and not remembered a moment of it, would claim that they never would do something like that.

Before the voice even spoke, Peter knew he’d done something truly unthinkable.

“When a person kills someone after experiencing a psychotic break, they often feel a type of guilt.”

Peter felt his stomach drop.

“No – who, who did I kill? I wouldn’t – I wouldn’t do that!” he cried. The blood was dried, but he felt it crawling up his arms. Felt it wrapping around his throat and strangling him. Something was pouring down his face, over his chin and dripping onto the snow. Fresh blood.

Peter’s head was pounding, and he cried out, grabbing at his skull as he collapsed to his knees.

A flashing memory played out in his head.

A little girl’s voice, brown hair and brown eyes. Playing with her outside of a cabin. It was warm, and happy. But the kind of happiness that you know wouldn’t last long. The happiness that you would see in a movie, moments before something purely unthinkable happened.

Peter was dancing with the little girl, laughing with her. One second he was tossing her in the air and catching her before she asked him to do it “again, Petey! Again!” and the next he was slamming his fists into something - looking down to see that he was covered in blood. Hearing someone yelling at him, unable to think.

Something sharp hit him in the back of his neck and everything went dark.

Peter’s eyes opened with a gasp, and he stared up, at the trees above him. He was shaking and his chest stuttered around every breath that he tried to force into his lungs.

“no-no-no…” He wept openly, his mouth open and tears falling down his face as his body jerked and shook. “I should have told them – I should have told them… I’m so sorry – I’m so sorry.” He never should have hidden those worries. He never should have been allowed to be a part of society. He’d always thought he had control of those invasive thoughts, always thought that maybe the spider bite had only effected his body. Maybe he’d been able to keep his mind intact.

He’d never be able to go back. He knew that. His life as he knew it was over. He should be dead – he deserved to die in this wasteland. He’d been plucked from his home and thrown into this cold an empty forest to waste away.

And he deserved it.

Because he’d killed Tony Stark’s daughter. 


	2. Where I'm Living

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From the night he’d caught the man that killed Ben. When he’d gone too far – almost to the point of no return. He’d put his hands on the man’s neck and squeezed. Tighter and tighter until he’d felt something pop, until he’d been certain he was dead. It wasn’t until Peter had collapsed backwards looking at his hands that he realized what he’d done. How close he’d been to killing someone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: This chapter holds graphic mentions to violence. It is eluded to, but this chapter is dark, take care.
> 
> I hope you are all enjoying this work! Its been so exciting to write, and I can't wait to continue this twisting journey! :)

Peter stared at his hands for too long. Sitting against the tree, watching as the blood dried and cracked. He wanted to strip his skin away – melt it off until he couldn’t see it again. A chill ran through him, and Peter pulled the jacket he had on tighter around him.

He couldn’t stop looking up to see the woods. It was vast, and dark, and deep, and he had no earthly idea how what he was going to do.

His mind was fighting itself. On one hand, he wasn’t capable of the things he remembered doing… was he? He loved Morgan. Just her name had him gasping in pain.

Every memory with Morgan was wonderful. Meeting her for the first time, playing at the Stark’s lake house together, Peter being called for babysitting duty on the rare occasion – they were all wonderful thoughts. He’d never hurt her – in fact, he would go as far as to say that he would go to great lengths to ensure that she was safe.

But he would look down, see the red, and remember the screams as they echoed in his head, and he’d feel sick.

With a sudden rush of force, he felt the desperate need to get it all off of him. Peter stumbled to his feet, hardly able to breath as he got onto his knees, and grabbed snow into his hands, rubbing it on his arms and hands vigorously. The snow slowly began to melt away, taking most of the blood with it.

Peter stayed knelt down in the snow, scrubbing at his skin until it was raw with irritation rather than blood. With a shudder, he forced himself to his feet.

It hit him then, he was completely alone. In these vast woods, with no cell phone, no shelter, and no food. His stomach growled as if on cue, and Peter wrapped his arms around himself. If he could collapse into himself, he would have by now.

How much easier it would be to drift away, melt off the earth.

Peter shook his head. He couldn’t… he couldn’t give up now. Because maybe he was wrong. Maybe he was just wrong, and Morgan was fine. Morgan was fine and Peter had been taken and tossed into the woods and any moment Mr. Stark would show up, and he’d wrap Peter in a blanket and hug him tight and tell him that everything was going to be just fine.

He didn’t realize that he’d squeezed his eyes shut around the tears flowing down his face until he heard a snap.

Peter’s head jerked up and he spun around, only to find that the snap was a result of a tree branch – too weighed down by snow – snapping off from its tree and plummeting to the ground.

He’d always thought himself a tree branch. A tree branch ripped from its tree and tied to another when his parents died. Grafted onto May and Ben’s tree, and one day that tree got damaged, but it held on. And eventually, Peter found that other trees were supporting his. But watching that branch lay on the ground, cold and broken, he couldn’t help but feel as though that were his destiny.

Peter looked past the tree, his eyes catching on a dark spot in the distance. It was hidden among several other trees, but it was the only thing in the entirety of the woods that didn’t resemble foliage. He could only hope that it was some type of shelter – some type of shelter that he could get to, get warm.

He began to walk, keeping his eyes up, focused on the dark shape in the distance. He stepped through the snow, wishing his clothes were warmer. Wishing he were anywhere else other than here. Wherever here was.

Peter’s heart began to race as the dark shape began to show what it was. An old cabin. It looked weary and run down and completely out of place – an awful lot like him.

Peter felt himself begin to speed up, moving faster with every step as he made it to the cabin.

“What if someone is in there Peter?” He flinched hard, his shoulder ramming into a tree beside him as his heart pounded and he looked around him wildly. That voice was chilling. It sounded like Karen, but colder. Not as much inflection, and like she were emotionless. And Peter had no clue where it was coming from.

“They’ll help me. Maybe they’ll help me get out of here.” Peter murmured to himself. They would have to help him. He was so cold and so tired, and he just needed a place to rest. Just for a little while.

The closer Peter got to the cabin, the more certain he was that no one had lived there for an awful long time. The wood was rotted, and the ceiling was a bit caved in, and stones from the large fireplace had fallen to the ground from it.

Every instinct in his body told him not to enter the creepy cabin in the woods – that only bad things would come of it, but the sun was setting. It was getting darker, and with that came the deep cold. The kind of cold that would kill him if he didn’t find a way to stay warmer.

Peter fumbled up the stairs of the cabin, almost worried he would fall through them. He stepped in and sighed at the sights before him. There was a lighter and candles on the table immediately to his left. He shut the door, and quickly set to work lighting the wicks. He grabbed one of the candles and walked around the room. It wasn’t too large, and only a single room cabin. There was a tiny kitchen, and a bed and a fireplace. The perfect kind of place to rest, get warm, and eat.

Peter rummaged through the cabinets and felt giddy at the sight of the canned foods before him. There was plenty of food, and a bag hanging on a hook that would be awfully handy when he decided to leave.

“Fire, I need to start a fire.” He said to himself, and he felt a wave of relief at the large stack of wood next to the fireplace. It was enough for several days’ worth of fires. Peter set the candle on the hard floor and began to set the logs up in the fireplace. He was so thankful for the many camping trips Ben had taken Peter on. He had a fire built and blazing in no time. The warmth was a welcome feeling and Peter closed his eyes, turning his back to the flames and relishing in the warmth the provided. He let himself thaw out for several minutes before finally convincing himself to get up and get some food into his body.

Peter grabbed a can of some type of soup and a pan. He popped open the lid and poured it in the can before setting it in the edge of the fire. He looked at the bed, and the exhaustion of the day took him over. He continued to shiver as he realized the snow had melted. He looked around and he found a bin of clothes at the foot of the bed. Peter dug through the bin, thankful to find clothes conducive to the weather outside. Peter quickly changed into the clothes, layering up and tucking a toboggan on his head. He found a pair of boots, slightly too big for his feet, but he figured that if he put on a few pairs of socks, they would fit perfectly.

Peter managed back to his soup, finding it just warm enough. He grabbed a spoon and a blanket, before collapsing next to the fire, and digging into the soup.

Between the warm soup, the fresh clothes, and the blanket, he finally felt the overwhelming pull of sleep drawing him to the bed. Peter slipped over to the bed, tucking his knees up as he wrapped the blanket around him.   
The bed was, by all means, the least comfortable bed he’d ever been on, but he found himself lulling off within minutes.

Peter was right on the edge of the sleep when the voice came back.

“They say that the spider bite only affected what was already in your head.”

Peter’s eyes shot open, and he jerked into a sitting position.

“What?” Peter looked around, he just needed to know who was speaking… he felt like he was going crazy. He gripped his hair in between his fingers, his leg shaking as the exhaustion and terror raced through him.

He laid back down, figuring he’d just made it up. Maybe he’d just fallen asleep, and it was a dream. He was too tired to keep the thought running for too much longer. Sleep overtook him swiftly.

_Peter sat on the porch of the lake house with Morgan while Tony and Pepper worked on dinner inside. Morgan had a boa scarf wrapped around her neck as she giggled before jumping into Peter’s lap._

_“Can we go to the swing, Petey?” Her voice was soft and playful, and Peter found himself smiling._

_“Of course, Mo.”_

_He stood up, and Morgan grabbed Peter’s hand, tugging him down the stairs towards her swing. They were halfway to the girl’s swing, when it hit Peter._

_He never knew where the memories came from. But this one was bad. From the night he’d caught the man that killed Ben. When he’d gone too far – almost to the point of no return. He’d put his hands on the man’s neck and squeezed. Tighter and tighter until he’d felt something pop, until he’d been certain he was dead. It wasn’t until Peter had collapsed backwards looking at his hands that he realized what he’d done. How close he’d been to killing someone._

_Peter gasped as he came back from the vision._

_He was holding Morgan to the ground._

_His hands were red._

_Someone was screaming._

_Someone was screaming._

Peter awoke to his own screams.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading :) 
> 
> Drink your water, wash your face, and get some rest! 
> 
> If you would like, a comment and kudos will be greatly appreciated! 
> 
> Feel free to scream at me on my Tumblr @itsreallylaterightnow I'm always happy to make new friends!


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